


She.

by im_a_fandom_trashpanda



Category: Angels and Demons AU - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 17:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20456846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_a_fandom_trashpanda/pseuds/im_a_fandom_trashpanda
Summary: A small songfic based on Bastille's 'Pompeii'.





	She.

She sat, and she watched, and she hummed.

“_I was left to my own devices…_”

A few heads turned at the soft sound seemingly coming from the Angel Queen. Was she singing?

“_‘n the walls kept tumblin’ down…_”

She noticed a few heads turn and chose to ignore, instead curling her wings towards her body and preening them. They probably hated her. They had every right to.

“_‘n if you close your eyes… does it almost feel like… nothing changed at all?_”

She was getting old. The angels wanted someone new, someone they could talk to without being flung from the clouds by the masses.

“_How’m I gonna be an optimist about this?_”

Was she getting old? Or was she getting paranoid?

“_We were caught… up and lost…_”

Why were there black feathers? Of course she knew why, was that even a question? It was the price she paid for being who she was… What she was. They couldn’t cast her down, she couldn’t cast herself down… So they cursed her with feathers that seemed like voids among her pure white ones. Like rotten teeth in a healthy mouth.

“_...Darkness from above…_”

She wondered if they knew. She wondered if it had been spread all across the realm, down to Hell… And there goes another white feather.

“_Does it almost feel like you’ve been here before?_”

Before? Impossible. There was no before. There was Then; there was Now; and there was Later.

“_Oh where do we begin? The rubble or…_”

She flicks her eyes to as many black feathers she can see in the moment before she breathes the words.

“_...our sins?_”

An angel makes to applaud her for her singing. Another shushes them. There are muffled whispers of _What’s happening? _and_ Is she dying?_ Not dying. _Crying_. The Angel Queen was _crying_.

She sums up the gall to stand and sing the last two lines properly before retreating to her home.

“_If you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing’s changed at all?_”

Her home, where she sits, and she hums, and she cries.


End file.
